Distrust and Hatred (4)
A close-range interception vanguard was, by definition, a role designed to shut down enemy offensives and leave most of the attacking to one's allies. Because the archetype was heavily skewed toward defense, simply deflecting blows was rarely a problem.
Yet every single thing Denise conjured with her magic was so unnaturally dense that Junon wondered if it had been carved from stone. Stems, roots, vines—not a single one possessed the pliant give of ordinary flora. They struck with terrifying force, leaving so many craters scattered across the ground where Junon had scrambled to evade that he had long since lost count.
Now hanging upside down from a thick bough, swaying like an awkward pendulum, Junon spoke through a face flushed crimson from the rush of blood.
"Could you please let me down...? All the blood is rushing to my head..."
"There. Happy now?"
"Ugh..."
"You seem decent enough at modulating your output," Denise remarked, crossing her arms. "But if that's all you've got, how do you ever expect to close the distance against me?"
"What else was I supposed to do? Even if I had a weapon, it wouldn't cut through those things. How on earth am I supposed to breach that and charge you, Professor?"
Not that I could use a weapon in the first place, he grumbled under his breath.
As he grumbled, the color slowly returned to his cheeks. She had righted him so he was no longer hanging by his ankles, but he remained thoroughly bound to the trunk. Denise stepped forward, guiding another vine toward him with a flick of her fingers.
"These two. You realized their densities were different, so you parried only the vine instead of the stem. Why did you do that?"
"I clashed with them once and figured that side was at least manageable to deflect."
Denise had barked at him to stop dodging and go on the offensive, leaving him no choice but to lunge forward to meet the lesson's demands. In the process, he had quickly gauged the disparity in hardness. Parrying the sturdier stem would drain far too much mana, so he chose to slip past or redirect it with glancing deflections while using the softer vine as an opening to advance and attempt a counter.
Under Professor Muniher, such sound tactical judgment would have earned him at least a nod of praise. But Denise was far from satisfied.
"And what happened right after that?"
"...They both became equally hard."
"If you can adjust the output of your Mana Shield, there's no earthly reason I can't do the same with my spells. Aren't you being a little too complacent?"
She had laid bare the most glaring flaw of the bout. The potency of magic ultimately scaled with precise mana control and available reserves; overlooking that fundamental truth had led directly to his current predicament.
"And another thing," Denise continued, her gaze narrowing. "Why do you insist on manifesting shields exclusively around your arms?"
"Pardon? Well, that's..."
"Were you about to tell me you were so consumed with blocking incoming spells that you didn't think of anything else?"
The words struck home with pinpoint accuracy, making Junon flinch.
"Just because your role is to intercept an opponent's attack doesn't mean you have to absorb the brunt of it with your own body. Why do you think I ordered you to come at me in the first place?"
"What... do you mean by that?"
"You seem sharp enough, yet you're surprisingly dense when it comes to the basics. Look here."
With an effortless gesture, Denise sketched a simple elemental array in midair. Arcs of lightning sparked to life within the circle—and in the very next breath, a defensive thicket sprouted directly in front of the discharge. The lightning bolt collided with the angled growth and skewed harmlessly off to the flank.
"Just because you're a close-range interception vanguard doesn't mean you're obligated to block long-range spells at point-blank range. All you need to do is distort the trajectory of their attack before it ever reaches you, don't you think?"
Junon's mouth fell open. The thought had never once crossed his mind. Because he bore the title of vanguard—and a close-range specialist at that—his tactical vision had been rigidly confined to absorbing and deflecting incoming strikes with his own limbs.
Fortunately, he's clever enough to grasp the point without needing it spelled out twice, Denise thought, watching his expression shift.
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and Junon immediately projected a thin barrier into the empty space several paces to his side. His range capped out at roughly ten meters, but at that distance, skewing the origin point of Denise's vines might have genuinely granted him an opening to close the gap.
Swallowing hard, Junon found his voice.
"Could I... ask for one more round, please?"
Battered, bruised, and tangled in foliage, he was asking for another spar.
Denise let out a long, weary sigh. Look at the state he was in. What did he think he could accomplish looking like a ragdoll?
"Sometimes, learning how to rest properly is part of the lesson."
"Ah."
Before he could protest, her index finger lightly tapped the center of his forehead.
The thick stems coiling around him vanished in an instant. It was nothing more than a gentle touch of a single finger, yet the entire world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Junon's limbs grew as heavy as lead. The dense jungle environment faded into nothingness, leaving him sprawled flat on his back, staring blankly at a familiar stone ceiling.
"Practice what you learned today, but don't overdo it. And make sure you keep up with your regular physical conditioning."
With that, Chapter One of the special tutoring session came to an end.
The announcement that the final Class Assignment Exam would be conducted through simulated duels sent ripples of unease through the lower-ranked classes. However, once the administration clarified that grades would not be determined solely by victories and defeats, the widespread panic gradually subsided.
Even so, finalizing the exact regulations and implementing measures to prevent foul play promised to take a considerable amount of time. Students found themselves with an unexpected lull, though it hardly amounted to a vacation.
"We cannot afford to halt lectures or combat training. For the time being, previous classes will continue under temporary schedules."
Fearing that any disruption might stunt academic progress, the faculty arranged interim rosters. As a result, Class D and Class E students once again found themselves sharing the same grounds.
I know for a fact... Sylvia's meeting some guy, Henna thought, narrowing her eyes.
Henna was constantly worried that Sylvia's trusting nature would lead her to be taken advantage of, even while buying groceries. So when Sylvia suddenly declared she wanted to dress up nicely to look good for a 'friend,' Henna's suspicions flared naturally. Sylvia had never once mentioned having close friends outside their circle, and according to her daily routine, the person she met in private was always the same one.
More importantly, Sylvia had only started talking about dressing up after visiting someone in the infirmary.
Patients came and went every day, but Sylvia herself had shown no signs of illness. Visiting someone wasn't unusual in itself, but the fact that it had become the single fixture on her personal calendar spoke volumes. Furthermore, there had been only one student severely injured during the recent Start-of-Semester Evaluation, and Henna had discovered that John and Noel were present at the scene.
It didn't take a genius to connect the dots: Sylvia had clearly gone to visit a boy she fancied.
"Hey there, John, Noel. You two are practically joined at the hip wherever you go."
"Whoa, what's this? Henna, talking to us first?"
"Seriously. Don't you usually hang around the girls?"
"Nothing major. Just figured I'd ask you two a couple of questions."
"Oho, asking us questions, are we?"
"Empty-handed?"
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Henna reached into her wicker basket and produced two golden, freshly baked rolls, offering them up as bait.
"Whoaaaa!!"
At the sight of the perfectly browned crusts, John and Noel lunged forward in unison. Henna's homemade baking was legendary among the student body, a reputation built on glowing praise from the fortunate few who had tasted it. It was so exceptional that an aristocratic student had once attempted to scout her as a personal chef, and a faculty member had even suggested she transfer to the culinary arts department. If anyone wanted to extract a favor from Henna, her bread was the undisputed currency.
Before their eager fingers could touch the pastries, however, Henna smoothly pulled the basket out of reach.
"Why don't you tell me what happened during the Start-of-Semester Evaluation first?"
Answer my questions, and then you eat. Her curved eyes and sweet, knowing smile drove the unspoken terms home with chilling clarity.
Though she had successfully bribed John and Noel into spilling the details of the evaluation, Henna found their claims thoroughly unconvincing.
That guy? Really?
None other than the so-called 'weakest vanguard'—the Class E outcast whose daily routine seemed to consist of being beaten black and blue by noble students. The stubborn fool who had refused to bow his head when everyone else groveled before aristocratic arrogance, rising to charge in again and again.
And that was the very boy Sylvia had fallen for.
Junon. That was definitely his name.
"If anyone was stuck in the infirmary after that mess, it's gotta be Junon."
"Munch, munch... Huh? You might not get it, Henna, but that guy literally saved our lives!"
"Wait, are we actually allowed to talk about this?"
"Who cares? If we weren't, he would've told us to keep our mouths shut. Damn, this bread is incredible! Hey, Henna, can we get just one more?"
John and Noel had babbled on enthusiastically, hyping Junon up as though singing their own praises. They had even rambled about how, had the decision not been overturned, he would have skipped straight from Class E to Class A. As if! Why else would he have earned the title of the weakest vanguard in the first place?
Convinced the two boys had abandoned all tether to reality, Henna decided to see the truth with her own eyes.
There he is.
Naturally, she had gotten here by trailing Sylvia in secret.
"Don't you always end up waiting around because of my class schedule?"
"N-no, not at all! I just got here myself."
"Is that so?"
Sylvia was lying through her teeth. Girl, you arrived thirty minutes early and haven't stopped checking your pocket mirror!
"I feel bad that you're always the one picking our meeting spots," Junon added casually. "Next time, just wait inside a café or somewhere comfortable."
"If I do that, the other students will notice you..."
"You don't need to go out of your way to accommodate me like that."
What? Henna fumed silently from behind her cover. Making Sylvia wait wasn't bad enough, but he let the girl arrange the meeting place every single time? Fine, maybe that was forgivable. But look at how she was dressed! Look at the effort!
"Oh, come to think of it, did you change your hairstyle?"
Henna breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Well, at least he noticed that much. Any boy with working eyes ought to offer a compliment when a girl put in this much care.
"Y-yes. Just for a change of pace..."
"It suits you. Walk around like that, and you'll probably have half the guys in the academy confessing to you."
"Ah... haha... No, it's really not that much..."
Wait... was that it?
Sylvia picked the location, arrived far ahead of time, and he thought she had only changed her hair? She had spent half an hour frantically touching up her powder to make sure not a speck of dust ruined her appearance. Instead of the dull academy uniform, she wore a soft beige dress that complemented the spring warmth, paired with a charming straw bucket hat to shade the sun. She had even swapped the standard student satchel for a dainty crossbody bag.
Every male student passing by on the avenue had turned their heads to look at her. Was Junon completely blind, or... did he genuinely feel zero romantic interest toward her?
This is... an entirely one-sided crush...
As Sylvia's close friend, Henna was ready to tear her hair out in frustration.
An hour passed, and the two remained seated over their texts. Junon was genuinely, entirely focused on studying. To a casual passerby glancing over, the scene might have invited familiar teasing:
Look at those two, picking such a secluded spot for a date.
Gathering under the pretense of studying just to flirt, huh?
Is that guy hitting on her?
None of that applied here. Not even close. The reality was that a stunning beauty was utterly tied in knots over an overwhelmingly ordinary boy!
Why him, of all people?
While Sylvia radiated effortless elegance, the boy opposite her was merely an unremarkable student in a slightly rumpled uniform. Henna couldn't fathom what charm could possibly have captivated her friend so thoroughly. With better tailoring or styling, perhaps he might look presentable, but anyone with eyes would agree that Sylvia was vastly out of his league.
She's completely fallen for him. This is bad. Really bad.
Sylvia had never once blushed like that around anyone else, boys or girls alike. Yet watching her now—pretending to study her notes while stealing bashful glances at his face, her lips curling into an irrepressible smile—it was agonizingly obvious who held her heart.
"Hm? Is there something on my face?"
"Ah! N-no, nothing! Just..."
Look at her! Henna groaned inwardly as Sylvia hastily bowed her head to hide her crimson cheeks. She was entirely at his mercy. The problem was that when it came to romance, Sylvia was an absolute simpleton.
If there was any silver lining, it was that Junon didn't appear to be a malicious scoundrel.
"I should head out now. It's time for my training."
"Okay. See you tomorrow."
No, Sylvia! That's when you ask him to stay a little longer!
Watching from the shadows, Henna felt as though her stomach were a furnace being relentlessly stoked by the logs Sylvia kept tossing into the fire. After watching her friend bungle opportunity after opportunity for nearly an hour, Henna finally pressed a hand to the back of her neck in sheer exasperation.
I can't just let this be.
Sylvia liked Junon? Fine. People had their own tastes. But she needed to find out whether the boy actually harbored any feelings in return. As things stood, Sylvia held zero leverage in the relationship. If Sylvia was ever going to hold the upper hand, Henna had to investigate. And so, after the two parted ways, Henna quietly tailed Junon.
What met her eyes next made her freeze.
A white collar trim... That's a first-year, isn't it?
Junon was standing face-to-face with a newly enrolled freshman girl. She possessed an aura entirely different from Sylvia's gentle grace—pale blue hair styled into immaculate ringlets, resembling a tranquil scoop of pristine ocean water. Though petite and charming, an air of precocious maturity clung to her, giving her a distinct, undeniable magnetism. She was, without question, another exceptional beauty. The kind of girl who would reduce an entire household of doting relatives to mush.
"How are you feeling now?" the girl asked softly.
"Thanks to you covering my medical expenses, I got to rest with top-tier care," Junon replied flatly. "It'd be weirder if I hadn't recovered by now."
"Even if it were an empty courtesy, it is in my nature to inquire at least once."
"Right. More to the point, why are you here again? Didn't I explicitly tell you to stop seeking me out?"
"The debt I owe you is simply too vast, Senior. It is my duty to repay it, which is why I have come."
"Don't you think that sense of debt is a little overblown? Those medical bills were steep enough, and you're telling me that wasn't enough?"
"Of course not. You are my lifelong benefactor. Something as trivial as hospital fees could never hope to suffice."
Henna watched the exchange with widened eyes. It was a bizarre, tense standoff. Junon spoke coldly, deliberately trying to cut the conversation short, yet the adorable girl refused to be deterred. She pressed forward with relentless persistence, looking every bit like an enamored underclassman trailing after the senior she adored.
"Since you spend so much time in the training hall, I brought a set of combat attire as a gift. Please accept it."
Good grief. What on earth is that girl trying to hand him?
Henna recognized the fine embroidery immediately. That was bespoke luxury gear, hand-tailored by master artisans under the prestigious Eshrelt Merchant Guild.
"I told you I don't need it," Junon said firmly.
"If you refuse to take it, I will have your name embroidered onto the chest, dispatch couriers to deliver it directly to your quarters, and..."
There was no need to hear the rest. Against Junon's prickly attempts to push her away, she countered with poised, aristocratic stubbornness, practically forcing the parcel into his hands. It was glaringly obvious that this young noble lady harbored deep affection for the very boy who had just parted ways with Sylvia.
Wait... listening to them talk... could that cute little thing be...?
The youngest baroness in imperial history, who had realized the shortcomings of standard military wear on the battlefield and launched a merchant syndicate that expanded all the way into the capital's high fashion districts. The head of the Eshrelt Merchant Guild herself—Charlotte Eshrelt.
Henna had assumed she was merely the daughter of an executive, but she was the actual master of the syndicate. Rebuffed by Junon's cold demeanor, Charlotte's eyes grew glassy with unshed tears, yet she clenched her tiny fists as if refusing to surrender.
He can't go collecting other candidates when Sylvia's waiting!
Watching Junon brush the girl off like an annoying younger sister, his standing in Henna's mental ledger plummeted another notch. But the surprises were far from over. What followed next obliterated any concept of grading scales altogether.
"Ah, Junon-sunbae! Are you on your way to the training hall?"
It was impossible not to recognize the voice—or the speaker.
Silvery-white hair that shimmered like starlight, crowned by an adorable, expressive strand of hair standing pertly at the crest of her head. She radiated an overwhelming presence that commanded the entire street. Paired with delicate, innocent facial features, her remarkably voluptuous figure was enough to leave even fellow women breathless in sheer disbelief.
Renias Lantana. The undisputed idol of Lebrant Academy, everyone's dream girl. Why on earth was she approaching Junon?
"I'm starting physical conditioning today too!"
"Physical conditioning?" Junon frowned slightly. "Why would you need to do that, Renias? You'd be better off focusing on your magic."
"Come on, Senior, I learned that lesson the hard way during the end-of-term evaluation. There are some problems that magic alone simply can't solve. So, um... what I mean is..."
For a brief, agonizing second, a faint blush dusted Renias's cheeks. And then, from those lovely lips, came an earnest plea for him to guide her physical training. Henna's jaw nearly unhinged. Did I hear that right? The Renias Lantana, shyly fidgeting with her fingers while asking Junon to teach her?!
"Well... it's not like that's difficult," Junon replied slowly. "But why ask me?"
"Because the professors would never agree to it! Those stubborn traditionalists would throw a fit and tell me to stick to spellcasting. I really don't want that."
"Mm, fair point. If you really have no other options, I can help you out. But hardcore training is off the table."
"Whaaaat? Why?!"
"I'm fine with showing you basic form and standard exercises. Why would someone who's never lifted a weight in her life jump straight into intense conditioning?"
"Hmph. I could handle it just fine, you know... But fine, deal."
First Sylvia.
Then Charlotte.
And now... Renias?!
"Just how many girls' hearts has that guy managed to steal...?!"
Watching Junon make his way toward Mizar Hall with Renias cheerfully trotting alongside him, Henna remained frozen in the shadow of the colonnade, her face utterly pale with shock.